Breaching The Fourth Wall
by diayang
Summary: They sit, they drink, and they talk... with innuendo. Ghost and Soap sharing quiet times off-duty.
1. Scotch

Title: Breaching The Fourth Wall  
Author: diayang  
Rating: K  
Pairing: Implied Ghost/Roach.  
Summary: They sit, they drink, and they talk. With innuendo.  
Disclaimer: Call of Duty:Modern Warfare 2 (c) Infinity Ward  
A/N: DOING THIS BECAUSE I CAN, BAWWW SOB SOB and all of that. =3=

* * *

"I know, mate. I know they're out there, all of them, just... just usin' us. Terrifying, you really sit down and think about it. Like we're nothin'..."

"Aye, Ghost, I know that. I know that. Bloody well eats at me. Same as it does you." Soap cut him off with a snort and a discontented rumble, puffing away at one of his infamous cigars. "But what can you do? There's a war we're fightin' here, Ghost, and they're the least of our worries."

"Sage words, from a bastard," Ghost jabbed, deftly avoiding his CO's half-hearted kick under the table. His gloved hand was cupped around a fairly clean glass, the Scotch gleaming amber in the dim light. It was rare for the lieutenant to be quietly seated with MacTavish instead of raising hell with the rest of the task force, and even rarer for him to be drinking, but the circumstances called for it.

"Says the pot. We'll get to that in due time."

Ghost peered up at him from tired blue eyes, then shook his head. "For all I know these'll be tenacious little freaks. God, you'd think they'd have a little more respect or the brainpower to not step into a firefight screaming like banshees and carryin' on like they hadn't an ounce of sense, but - "

"That's puttin' it lightly, mate, you saying 'carrying on'. Bloody near had meself a heart attack. Cleared the area myself, there were no civvies there, not a single one left."

"Begs the question of just where the fuck these addlebrained zombies spring out from, eh, Soap?"

Watching him with hooded eyes, Soap ground out the cigar, expelling a steady stream of smoke that disguised a weary sigh.

"Feel free to speculate but don't you be fillin' Roach's impressionable little mind with stories like that, eh? No tellin' what we're going to find him up to next."

"Aw, Captain. You wound me." Ghost's shrug was careless, his eyes amused, and his leer slightly less than savory. "Now that his mind's off-limits I'm just going to have to find some other thing to fill."

"Don't break him. 'm serious, mate." He levelled a steady glare onto his unrepentant XO, emphasising the point with a jab of his finger. "Big enough a pain in the arse gettin' a new FNG out, much less one of Roach's calibre."

"He can't jump."

Soap shrugged. "Makes up for it by being one lucky son of a bitch."


	2. Doomsday Comes Late

Title: Doomsday Comes Late

Author: diayang

Rating: T

Pairing: Implied Ghost/Roach.

Summary: They sit, he cleans, he's on the laptop, and they talk. With more than innuendo.

Disclaimer: Call of Duty:Modern Warfare 2 (c) Infinity Ward

A/N: _time: 0608 research: sadly minimal_

All mistakes are my own.

* * *

"Can you believe this shit?"

He's laughing softly, kicked back in a chair, laptop perched on a knee, tapped into whatever illicit site of the day he's hacked into. A smile tugs on your mouth, only slightly reluctantly, while your fingers busy themselves cleaning your sidearm. Roach's amusement is infectious.

"Fuck'd you find?"

"Some site," he chuckles, tapping on the keyboard. "So listen to this, people actually believed the fuckin' world was gonna end in 2012. Someone has to tell them it's bullshit, it should have been _2016_. I mean, look at us - here we are, in a safehouse, attempting to prevent the apocalypse. World War the Third."

"Those poor motherfuckers," you symphathise. The grin stretches the fabric of your balaclava as you spare him a quick glance. "Roach, you know that whole fuckin' fuss started with the Mayan calender only going up to 2012, right?"

"Yeah, I guess. And you know, all this other crazy ass stuff with photon belts and the universe going around another universe, or whatever. Hey, I thought shit was moving out and away after the Big Bang. People always love a good doomsday scenario, too. World's ended half a dozen times over, easily, yet here we are. Still kickin' and alive."

"Mmm. Make sure you stay that way, FNG."

"What, is the almighty Ghost professing to actually, God forbid, harbour good feelings for the FNG?"

He turns to you with that smile, broad and open with too many teeth. Gary fucking Roach Sanderson. His eyes glitter brightly in the weak light streaming in from the window, highlights struck from his hair, over the curve of his cheek, the line of forehead to nose to jaw.

"Don't fool yourself, lad," you chuckle, even as you make the concession and slide your shades up, hook a finger into the edge of the balaclava and tug it down. Both his eyebrows shoot up in a gratifying display of surprise and want, before his gaze flicks back to the laptop, fingers moving in that quick motion that reads _Alt-F4_. "Just because you're a good shot and we need everyone."

"Admit it, you like me 'cause I'm pretty."

"Pretty mouth, that's for sure." _Even prettier wrapped around my cock_, you think, your own eyebrows arching up in a look he's known how to read since - well, you have no idea when. But he does, and he reads it now, and before you're quite finished reassembling the M9, he's sliding into your lap with a hand trailing up the front of your shirt.

"I meant it about staying alive, you FNG," you hear yourself mutter, before his mouth drifts over yours and his hand between your legs.

"Trust me, I don't plan on giving in to doomsday scenarios anytime soon. Crazy ass people. Takin' it one year at a time, let's see how far past 2012 we can go," he grins. "'Sides, you're a ghost, and I'm a roach. We're fuckin' unkillable, mate."

"Fuckin' aye."


End file.
